


Five

by emungere



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: AU: Miami-verse, Alternate Universe - Criminals, M/M, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story in indelicateink's <a href="http://indelicateink.livejournal.com/313888.html">Miamiverse</a>. </p><p>Gojyo goes on an ill advised night out with Ukoku's right-hand thug, Kami-sama, and meets Hakkai for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Chrissy for the beta and Indelicateink for letting us play in her verse.

Jake looked himself over in the mirrored wall of the changing room. The gold swim trunks clung to his hips and ended right under his ass. The sunglasses were last season's, but still pretty good, and mirrored, which would give him an advantage. He'd gotten everything waxed and trimmed yesterday, and his tan was perfect. He nodded to himself and headed out. 

Fuck the deck chairs, he decided. Better to be low, let Cam look down on him like he always wanted to. He spread the towel on the ground near the edge of the pool and stretched out on his stomach. He spread his legs just enough and laid his head down on his arms. 

It was ten minutes at most before he heard the familiar purr of Cam's convertible Mercedes. The gate squeaked as it opened. Footsteps. 

"What do you want?" Cam said. 

Jake rolled over slowly. He crossed his arms behind his head. "Me? You're the one trespassing. You want me to call the cops again?" 

"I own the fucking cops. Are you setting me up, lying around like this? Is he coming home early?" 

"Nah." Jake smiled and dangled one foot in the water. "Just you and me. What'd you come over here for?" 

Cam's eyes went over every inch of oiled, exposed skin and then lingered over the bulge in his gold shorts. "Thought I'd take you out," he said. 

"That's sweet, Cam. Where you wanna take me?" 

"Shopping?" Cam suggested. 

Jake lifted his foot from the water and dragged a wet line down Cam's thigh. "I could use some new jeans," he said. "Definitely new sunglasses. Maybe a watch." 

Cam caught his ankle. His fingers dug into Jake's skin. "You know what I could use?" he said, voice rough. 

"Well," Jake drawled. "You could probably use me not telling Ulysses you wanna bone me over every flat surface from here to the Gulf. But that ain't new. You always need that, don't you?" 

Cam's fingers pressed in deep, and his nails bit hard into the thin skin over Jake's ankle bone. Like most of Ulysses's top guys, Cam was more than a little batshit, and fucking him around like this was like smoking a sparkler at a gas station. Jake loved it. 

"Fuck," Cam said, and let him go. "Fine. Get dressed." 

Jake pulled on a ribbed tank top and stood, stepping into a pair of cheap flip flops. "I'm dressed," he said, and basked in Cam's expression of mingled dismay and desire. 

"You can't-- Fine," Cam said. "Jesus. Jake."

"You want something?" 

Cam shook his head sharply. "Get in the fucking car, cocktease." 

"Sure thing, babe." Jake blew him a kiss and sauntered off, slowly, so Cam could stare at his ass. 

Cam's car was pretty sweet. Not what Jake would pick for himself (Ferrari - Ulysses would get it for him when he came back, he'd promised), but it went with Cam's personality. Leather interior, expensive, European classy, not super flashy, but obviously some power under the hood. 

Sometimes Cam took him out at night, and they'd just drive up the coast for hours, top down, radio blaring. They never talked on those nights. Sometimes they got McDonald's shakes and fries and watched the sun rise over the Atlantic, and Jake was almost happy, until he remembered how fucking sad it was that fast food with his father's thug seemed like a fun night out. 

But he sort of liked Cam when they didn't talk, even though he was a violent, semi-psychopathic asshole most of the time, and they weren't talking now. They cruised down sun-baked streets under a flawless sky. Jake shut his eyes and breathed in salt and the smoke from distant barbeques and the metallic tang of car exhaust. 

Cam's hand landed on his bare leg, and he didn't object. Cam had soft hands for a killer, no calluses, not even from his gun. Manicures once a week, nails buffed like glass. If Jake looked down he'd be able to see his face in them. He kept his eyes closed, and Cam's smooth-edged nails scratched lightly along his inner thigh. 

It was payment, sort of, for the clothes Cam bought him, the sunglasses, the watches, which was fucked up. Jake knew that. But it was power, too. If Jake ever told Ulysses, Cam was a dead man. Ulysses wouldn't even think about it. It wouldn't matter that Cam was Ulysses's right hand, that he ran half his business. It would just be a couple shots in the head, and Ulysses would call someone to clean up the mess while he took Jake out to dinner. Cam and Jake both knew it. 

Cam touched him, and Jake let him. That was how it worked. Sometimes Jake let him go further than other times. Today, he was feeling pretty generous, and when Cam's fingers wriggled up under the edge of his shorts, he kept quiet and let it happen. 

Cam took a sharp breath. He'd obviously expected to be stopped. Jake smirked and let his legs fall open. He stretched his arms up over his head and clasped his hands behind the headrest. 

"Fuck," Cam muttered. His fingers rubbed against Jake's skin and crept up and up till they touched the crease of his thigh and hip. They slid sideways and brushed the shaft of his cock. The shorts were tight, but he managed to twist his hand round till he could rub his thumb against the head. His breathing was shaky, and his other hand was clamped tight to the steering wheel. 

"You are gonna drop so much cash on me today," Jake said. "Everyone's gonna think I'm yours. You like that idea?" 

"Yes," Cam hissed. "You fucking should be mine."

Jake was getting hard, and it made him reckless. "Tell you what, for every grand you blow on me today, you get a yes." 

Cam jerked his head around and stared at him so long they nearly swerved into the other lane. "Yes to what?" he said. 

"A yes when I'd normally say no. Only for today though. You can't save them up."

"What if I wanna watch you in the dressing room?" 

"Then you'd better spend that first grand on sunglasses and buy me clothes after." 

Half an hour later, Jake had three new pairs of shades, one on his face and two in the car. He and Cam walked along a row of the most expensive shops in Miami, and Cam's hand cupped his ass and squeezed. Jake knocked it away.

"What happened to yes?" Cam said. 

"Is that what you wanna spend it on? Groping my ass on the street? If so, go for it. I thought you had something better in mind." 

"Fucking tease," Cam muttered, but he didn't try it again. 

There was a little boutique denim store that Jake liked. They had everything, all the best brands, acid washed, ripped just right. The floors were cool, white marble and felt great when he kicked his flip flops off. The shop girl brought them a couple of Evians and picked out some stuff for Jake to try. When he went into the fitting room, Cam followed. 

"Sure this is what you want?" Jake asked. 

"Real sure." 

Jake shrugged like it didn't matter, but it was sort of a thrill to peel his shorts off and see the way Cam couldn't help staring. Cam groaned quietly and rubbed a hand between his own legs. 

Jake turned away and bent over from the waist to pick up the first pair of jeans. Behind him, he heard Cam unfastening his pants. Jake ditched the tank top too when he straightened up. What the hell. 

He leaned against the door, jeans dangling from one hand. He watched Cam watch him. Cam's hand was down inside his grey slacks and moving sharply, mouth open just a little. The stuff Cam wanted from Jake was simple. Jake liked that about him. 

He pulled the jeans on slowly, but left them unzipped, left them slouched around his upper thighs with his dick hanging out. "Y'know, if you pay for all this shit, it'll probably be a grand. You could come back in here and ask me to touch you," he said. 

Cam's hand stuttered and slowed. "You never do that," he said. 

Jake shrugged. "You could ask." 

"I'm asking now." 

"That's not the deal. Money first. Favors after." 

"Fuck," Cam spat. He yanked his hand out of his pants and started gathering up the jeans. 

Jake watched, touched his dick a little till he was half hard. He kept playing with it while Cam paid. He wondered what Cam would want when he came back. If he'd be smart enough to ask for something big. It was a risk, and Jake was getting off on it. 

Cam was cool when he came back, even though Jake could see his erection ruining the line of his pants. "How about a Rolex?" he said. 

"That'll set you back." 

"Worth it." 

On the way to the store, Jake picked the hole in his new jeans half an inch bigger. If he let Cam buy him a Rolex, that was four or five grand, four or five yeses. Higher stakes than Jake had planned on playing today, but he didn't want to stop now. 

*

The watch cost four grand. With the money for Jake's new denim collection, that was five altogether:

1\. "I'm taking you out tonight."

2\. "Wear something hot." (As if Jake ever wore anything else, but if Cam wanted to blow his yeses on stupid shit, that wasn't Jake's problem.)

3\. "We're going to Hotwire."

Number three nearly made Jake pull the plug on the game altogether. Hotwire was Ulysses's place. Everyone there knew both of them. If Cam got handsy or said the wrong thing and it got back to Ulysses -- and it would -- that would be it.

"That's why it's perfect," Cam had said. "We won't be hiding. Who'd have the balls to take you to Ulysses's own club without permission?"

Pretty, blond, batshit psychopaths, apparently. "Whatever, man. It's your death warrant."

Jake wore a black lycra top with three slashes, like a tiger had clawed it. One hit right across his chest, baring one nipple, and the other left room for his sixpack to shine through. After some intense wardrobe diving, he chose flame-red leather pants for the bottom. They left zero to the imagination and no room inside for wandering hands. 

They hit Hotwire just after eleven, when things were starting to heat up. Cam bypassed the front room full of white leather couches and pink neon lights. They went straight through to the back: black walls, black rubber dance floor, folding chairs in an arc around the stage, and the DJ booth lit up with hot blue lights near the ceiling. 

Cam pulled Jake into his lap and shoved a hand up his shirt. "That's four," Jake said. 

"Yeah, got it. Shut up, I'm watching." 

Lights skidded across the two men on the stage. They looked like one creature made from oiled muscle and shadow. Jake couldn't see their faces. One went down under the other's bulk with a groan. His slighter frame was entirely covered by the other man. With a match that uneven, he'd probably played to lose. 

"I yield, god, I fucking yield, get it in me!" The words floated out to the audience. There was a little laughter, but mainly a collective indrawn breath as the larger man pinned him down and started to thrust. 

"Jesus," Cam muttered. He ground his hips up against Jake's ass, cock already hot and hard. 

"You don't come here a lot, huh?"

"I have to work, unlike some. Do they both lube up before the fight?" 

"Yeah. That's the rules."

"No condoms?"

"Winner has to if the loser asks for it. Mostly they don't." 

Cam's hand rubbed between Jake's legs, and Jake almost called five, but then he looked up. The lights had come up inside the DJ booth. Jake could see both the new DJ and, framing him, a pair of immense wings. 

Ragged brown feathers pressed up against the glass like they were trying to get out. These weren't any Halloween angel wings; they looked like someone had chopped them off a huge fucking bird. The DJ stood between them in headphones, mirrored sunglasses, and head-to-toe white, topped off with a white fedora.

"Men's room, now," Cam panted in his ear.

"Yeah, sure." 

The men's room was lit blue with Christmas lights straggling down from the ceiling. A waterfall gushed down one wall, which might've been classy if people didn't keep pissing in it. Cam pulled him into the biggest stall, shut the door, and grabbed his shoulders. 

He stared like Jake was something he could devour. Jake would've bet his new watch that Cam's mouth was watering. 

"I want to suck you off," Cam said, which was not what Jake had expected at all. 

"You sure? That'll be your last one." 

"I'm sure," Cam said, and got down on his knees. 

He looked so hungry that Jake was almost afraid to get his cock out, but he did it, fumbling at his zipper and peeling red leather down over his hips, just enough. He was half-hard from Cam's petting earlier and from the sense of danger that ate at the night. Cam's mouth on him got him all the way there so fast he had to steady himself with a hand on the door. 

It felt more dangerous than going down on Cam, than anything Jake had imagined for tonight. He pushed one hand into Cam's white-gold hair and watched his face. His lips stretched wide as he pushed them further down the shaft. They'd gone from pale to soft pink, and his cheeks were faintly flushed. He never looked away from Jake's face. 

It left Jake feeling weirdly protective, and he stroked Cam's cheek and hair and neck, let him take his time. It was good, a little sloppy and unpracticed, but it wasn't long before Jake's thighs and back were tensing, and he was fighting not to grab at Cam's hair. 

"Gonna be soon," he said. 

Cam closed his eyes and sucked harder, head bobbing, hands tight on Jake's hips. Jake came with a grunt. 

He'd only just managed to get his eyes open again, but Cam was already on his feet. 

"I know, we're done," Cam said. "You can find me if you want a ride." He pushed open the stall door. 

Jake shoved his cock back in his pants and followed him. "Hey, what--" 

And then he stopped. The DJ was leaning up against the counter. The combination of dim lighting and white clothes made him seem to glow. For a second, he was all Jake could look at. 

"Yeah, see you," Cam said, but his voice had flattened out in a way that made thugs citywide piss themselves, and he wasn't looking at Jake. He was looking at the DJ. From the venom in that look, Jake half expected him to pull out a gun and drill him right there, but he pushed through the door and vanished. 

Jake and the DJ looked at each other. Jake zipped up his pants. "So, this is awkward," he said. 

"Not especially. You're Jake Savage."

"Yeah. Who're you?" 

"They call me Hades." 

"Nice wings on the booth. Those yours?" 

"Oh, yes. They weren't easy to acquire. Would you like a closer look?" 

"Sure." 

They went up together, and Jake watched his hands flicker between three turntables, mixer, and mic. He made it look easy. Even in the heat of the booth, he never broke a sweat. 

Later, Jake would find that was typical, no matter what Hades was doing. Later, he'd ask about the wings. Later, he'd finally think to question who, exactly, had named him after the god of the underworld, and why. By then, of course, it was much too late.


End file.
